Gemotions

The review sat on the polished countertop like a venomous snake, its words twisting in the morning light. Chef Antoine slammed a fist onto the marble, the force rattling the pristine glasses. "Pretentious," the critic had written. "Lacking in genuine passion." Antoine snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive.

He ripped the review in half, then in quarters, his jaw clenched so tightly he felt a headache blooming behind his eyes. He imagined the critic, a plump man with a self-satisfied smirk, sipping his overpriced wine and scribbling down his pronouncements.

He stalked into the kitchen, the stainless steel reflecting his grimace. "Get me the finest cuts of beef," he barked at his sous chef, his voice devoid of warmth. "And make sure the plates are perfect. Absolutely perfect." He would show them passion. He would show them something they'd never seen before.